


American Man

by Alexandra_Lovely



Category: The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: How Do I Tag, Other, Patriotism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Violent Thoughts, beta, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 02:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexandra_Lovely/pseuds/Alexandra_Lovely
Summary: Strickland hated everything what was different. He despised things that made a person unique. Uniqueness was wrong. It separated individuals from the rest of the crowd, and he didn't like that. Everything had to be perfect. And perfect was: a family with kids, a good job, a submissive wife, a high position in society, and of course, himself.





	American Man

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is a vent fic I wrote to cope with some current problems.  
> Unbetaed.   
> Enjoy.

The scientist caught his eye right away. 

Maybe not in the way Elisa did, but something about Bob gave him a heavy feeling in his abdomen. A feeling that made him positively insane. A feeling of a need to strangle the little man, to choke him to death, to see the life fade away from his eyes.

Strickland hated everything what was different. He despised things that made a person unique. Uniqueness was wrong. It separated individuals from the rest of the crowd, and he didn't like that. Everything had to be perfect. And perfect was: a family with kids, a good job, a submissive wife, a high position in society, and of course, himself. 

He saw black families on the streets, and they disgusted him. These people didn't belong to the American society he wanted to live in. These people didn't share his beliefs, they wanted freedom, equality. But only perfect people deserved to be equal to him. Blacks weren't equal, because they weren't even people.

Just like fags weren't people, because they went against the will of God. 

Disformed people weren't people either. God created a man after his portrait. Those freaks weren't from God, they came straight from the Devil. Circuses were so right when they showed those abominations to normal people for money, it was a pity they've stopped doing it.

Yes, Richard Strickland was a simple man. All he wanted was perfection. 

But sometimes, even his own, perfect, body betrayed him, finding the wrongest things arousing.

Elisa aroused him, for example. He desired her, because she was submissive in her muteness.

Yes, she had a strong willpower, and she might have had her own, bizarre opinion on things that shouldn't matter to a woman, but the knowledge, that whatever he'd be doing to her body, she wouldn't scream, because she couldn't, was what aroused Richard to no end.

Submission was a subject this pathetic, little scientist had yet to learn. He had to be put into place and the faster the better. 

Everything about Doctor Hoffstetler irritated him. From the glasses, to the slicked back hair. From his voice, to the way he walked. His presence itself irritated Richard. 

The way he pitied freaks. The way he was nice to the help, whether it was a white or a black person, it didn't seem to matter to him. 

Maybe it was some kind of envy, because deep down inside Strickland knew, the doctor was a far better man than him. But would he ever admit it? 

He wouldn't. 

He would bury these feelings deep inside instead. He would turn them to hate. 

And so, Richard fucked his wife alternating between imagines of either Elisa, or Hoffstetler. 

When he'd press his palm to her mouth, demanding her to be quiet, he'd imagine Elisa. Writhing beneath him, silently begging him to stop, with only her eyes. 

And on top her, him. The man, the hero, the Mr. Perfect. Superior to her in every way. 

He would come with a grunt then, immediately turning to the other side, falling asleep, exhausted from the day and the pent up frustration. 

But when he'd become violent, turning the petite blonde woman around so she'd press her face into the cushions, nearly crushing her with his weight, eliciting painful moans, he'd imagine Robert.

He imagined the scientist chained up like the Asset, screaming in pain, when he'd show him who the real man between the both of them was. Not that the scientist tried to compete with him. And even if he would, he couldn't win. 

Sometimes Richard would sink in the foreign feeling of hurting the scientist so deep, he'd forget that in front of him was a fragile woman, not a man.

After sex to the memories of Hoffstetler, he'd go and take a shower. 

Standing under the cold streams, he'd stare at the wall in front of him, angrier than before, crushing one candy after another, picturing it was Hoffstetler's spine he was crushing with his teeth. 

Someone wanted his death, he was sure about it. 

Maybe that black help, what was her name again? Zalda? Zolda? Not that it mattered... But maybe she casted a spell on him, making him lose his mind over a mute woman and a male scientist? He couldn't have developed these feelings by himself.

One morning he actually considered seeking help. Maybe call up the psychologist's number he saw in the newspaper. He actually stood up from his bed, to move to the kitchen where the phone was located, but stopped dead in his tracks. 

Goddamn it! He was a strong, American man, he didn't need help. Only the weak needed someone to talk to. He could do it all on his own. 

He could. 

Richard was sure about it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you found any mistakes please inform me about them. Maybe I'll add a second chapter to it, idk. Thanks a lot for reading. Have a nice day/night/whatever.


End file.
